Not Your Year
by badly drawn girl
Summary: Epic time travel returns with 20x less epic? So unoriginal yet I'm doing it anyway--again. Jo doesn't know what the hell she's doing at the turn of the twentieth century, but she's about to find out what life is like without an iPod. Eventual OC/Skittery.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Don't own Newsies but I own the rest. Yanked some nicknames from old NML listies, hopefully they don't mind, I knew them when! _

_-West_

**Not Your Year**

**(by badly drawn girl)**

"Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah," the young woman muttered under her breath, pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose and frowning into the mirror. Her flatmates downstairs were debating politics and smoking up a storm in the kitchen, the aroma of smoke drifting upstairs and mingling with the stale smell of cigarettes already present in the hall as their voices echoed off of the thin walls. Nine AM was all too early for politics or smoking, the young woman thought, though she didn't really mind the smell. It was comforting in a world of thick accents, thick beer, and thick textbooks. Giving her stubby ponytail one last tug, she collected her bag, laden heavily with archaeology textbooks, and trudged down the stairs.

"Morning Sunshine," one thick brogue broke through the rest, "how is our favorite Westerner this morning?"

"Coffee," came her sole reply.

"Tired, then?" he pried.

"Just don't care much for tea," she smirked in response. The two shared a small smile before she turned to pour creamer in her coffee, the smile not falling from her face but remaining fixed there. His eyes didn't miss the lingering smile, just like they didn't leave her face until a number of moments later. She felt them but didn't have long to think about it. She was going to be late. Pouring the coffee into a travel mug, she gave a hollered farewell to the lot of them and hurried out the door, down cobbled grey streets and through the soaking rain. Dublin, to her, still seemed the crowded medieval city it had once been. Streets sometimes felt just as claustrophobic as it must have then, the buildings built on top of each other for centuries. Dreary, it most certainly was, but there was a life to it she couldn't explain. And so she paused to lean on the stone wall along the canal to look at the River Liffey and close her eyes, remembering why she chose to abandon America and life there to come study in the old country. The air around her shook as one of the city's tall busses sped by but still she kept her eyes tightly shut.

The young woman did not feel like she belonged to this city. Nor did she feel like she belonged to the place she came from. She clinged to change, hoping just once to get it right. But still she felt she stuck out like a sore thumb, as much as her bright green jacket stuck out amongst the crowds of black moving along the Dublin streets. Out of place. Maybe one day she'd get it right, but for now things always seemed better somewhere else.

The air around her seemed to shift, but she chalked it up to the wind. Feeling someone jostle past her, she opened her eyes and nearly fell backwards. The view greeting her was not the one she'd left. Tight river and houses leaning inwards were replaced by a vast expanse of water, flanked by city on either side. She stared at the bank to her left in disbelief. The skyline was altered, more bare than she remember, but she'd know it anywhere.

* * *

New York City. Dazed, she stared at the city for what felt like hours, but all sense of time seemed to have left her. The rain continued to fall, getting heavier and soaking through a dark skirt and blouse she hadn't been wearing before she closed her eyes. The tattered coat around her offered little protection. Thoughts had escaped her entirely and she began to walk without thinking, to one end of the bridge (which somewhere deep inside her head she knew was the Brooklyn Bridge) through the muddy streets, down one and onto the other. She was empty and lost. Nine billion questions were clamoring for attention inside her head but she didn't have the courage to address any. She must look insane, she thought, wandering around with her mouth slightly open and her eyes bulging, tripping on cobblestones every few feet. Finally exhausted she took shelter under the eaves of a building, huddling against its side and sliding downwards until she was sitting on the wet pavement. Her eyes slid shut and she remembered little of the next forty-eight hours. When her eyes drifted open she'd see night or day or empty squares or bustling crowds, but always the rain. Always the same. Always the site of a place she did not belong, a place she was not supposed to exist in.

"She's been sitting there for two days Gracie, hasn't budged an inch! She needs help!" the voice above caused her to stir for the first time in ages. She couldn't feel her limbs, and felt her head droop again against her will, the cold pressing in on her.

"You can't help every street urchin you see, Elisabeth! She could be dangerous!" hissed another voice.

"Don't be such a ninny pinny, she's the same size as the both of us, it's not as if she's going to knock our heads in," the first voice returned again. Hands were shaking her but she wouldn't respond, couldn't if she wanted to. The voices above her began to swim together as she felt different hands, strong hands pulling her to her feet, stronger than she would have imagined either owner of the voices to possess. Then the darkness claimed her a second time.

It was still raining when she came to, though it was now dark outside and she felt considerably warmer and drier.

"Ah, you've come back ta' us," a voice with a lilting Irish accent exclaimed. The young woman felt her heart stop as she thought for one moment that things were back to normal. But one quick glance at the room around her and she knew things were not. A number of girls of various ages were leaning in towards her, all of them dressed so strangely. Beds lined the wall, about 15 in total if she counted correctly. And all of it was wrong.

1899. She knew it, had seen it on a discarded newspaper when she was wandering, but she refused to acknowledge something so ridiculous.

"What's your name?" the soft voice came again. She paused, feeling her mouth dry and her lips cracked.

"Jo. Josephine," came a rasped voice she hardly recognized as her own.

"Where are you from?" a new voice broke in. Jo recognized it, from the street that day… however long ago it had been.

"Not here," Jo whispered, feeling lost as the tears welled up in her eyes.

"Shush now, you'll be alright. Gracie and I, we found you and now you're safe, and we can help you. Jack, he's the one who carried you back here, said he's sure we'll be able to get you a place at the factory and—"

"And whatever Jack says goes because Elisabeth is sweet on him," another voice cut in. Elisabeth's outraged cry caused Jo to wince.

"The lot of you, clear out!" the girl with the Irish accent hissed at them, standing up to shoo them away with her hands, her long skirts swishing around her. "So, where are you from, love?" the accent comforted Jo, made her feel secure somehow.

"I don't know," she said honestly. She couldn't understand what was going on. And she felt she must be going crazy, that she'd sound crazy if she admitted to not be of this world. Their world.

"Well, you know your name, it's a start," the girl said brightly, "I'm Miriam."

"What is this place?" Jo asked, finding herself a bit curious about her surroundings.

"Rose Street Girl's Lodging House," Miriam said proudly, then noticed Jo's blank look, "We're factory girls, work in the textile factories around the city. Not a bad livin', 'least it has its moments. And, well, you seem ta' 'ave already hit the bottom if you don't mind me sayin', so this can only be an improvement. Jus' don pay ta' much attention ta' what the other workin' girls say 'bout us," Miriam grinned broadly.

"What do they say?" Jo laughed. She found this motion hurt her ribs but didn't care much, it did her good to let something out, anything. Her laughter seemed to encourage Miriam as she settled back in her chair a bit and smiled pleasantly at Jo.

"Some a' the hoity-toity types say we're low class, no manners t'all. The woman who runs our lodging house, Addie Dervaux, she's a suff-rah-gette," Miriam stumbled through the word best she could, then continued, "Has all sorts of mad ideas about women an' our rights. Surprised they let her get away with any a' it, but I suppose we're not important in the grand scheme of it all. But she let's us do a lot of t'ings that are a bit, er, unseemly," Miriam offered, the mischievous sparkle clear in her eyes.

"Like talk to boys and wander on your own and think big ideas?" Jo laughed.

"Well, yes, actually," Miriam seemed a bit taken aback by Jo's easy acceptance of these facts, "You one a' those suff-rah-gette types, too?" she asked suspiciously.

"Something like that," Jo conceded with a laugh, struggling to sit up in bed.

"Well, you're in better spirits in any case," Miriam nodded her approval.

"So long as I don't think too much," Jo murmured.

"Well, let's see then, t'ink you can learn some names? I'll go through everyone here," Miriam offered, then continued with an encouraging nod from Jo. "The girls who helped you, that's Elisabeth and Gracie. Twins an' different as night and day. T'en there's Kate with the red hair, we call her Ginger most times an' a real temper to watch out for, the little one next to her is Lily, no clue to her real name, she came to us when she was four, didn't speak a word of English! Jewel an' Damsel are t'ick as thieves, Eire's learning to read an' Ace is a disaster, no hope t'all. Smokes an' gambles an' wears boy's trousers, don't know what ta' do with her," Miriam sighed, exasperated.

Well… I'm Jo no-last-name-like-you-lot Josephine and I imagine you'll all find me very odd," Jo offered with a grin. It was easier to accept this than to think on it, she was learning.

"Well, pleased ta' meetcha, Miss. Jo," Miriam said, holding out a hand. Jo took it enthusiastically.

* * *

Jo spent the next few days in bed regaining her strength. It seemed Miss. Dervaux had a habit of taking in the lowest forms of "street urchins" and didn't mind spotting Jo the lodging so long as she meant to get a job at the end of it all. And she did: Miriam found a placement for Jo at the same factory as her and thank God for that, because Jo was terribly lost her first day as manual labor was really not her strong point. She'd been a student back home but found all her knowledge to be of little use in this world.

But Miriam taught her the ways and life fell into a sort of routine. Jo did not think about anything prior to that first day in the Lodging House, did not consider why or how she was here, did not think about the possibilities of time travel and what this would mean to her life, her dreams, her comfort. In fact, she thought as little as possible these days. This suited most of the other girls fine: Ginger could win every argument with Jo, Eire could con her into reading out loud to her any day and Jewel and Damsel would play endless pranks on her while she took it all in good humor. Only Elisabeth and Miriam seemed unhappy with Jo's lack of explanation or opinion on, well, anything. But even they were getting used to her vacancy.

The days went by and she'd work in the factory. Sundays they would go to the park after church. The other girls met up with boys from a nearby newsboys lodging house and flirted, though Jo doubted they called it that at this point in time. Sometimes the boys would come to the girl's lodging house and under Miss. Dervaux's somewhat absent-minded eyes, would talk with the girls. If Miss. Dervaux had been heavy-handed with the cooking sherry she snuck when she thought the girls weren't looking, then the boys would stay later and talk louder and play cards with the girls. This always made Jo smile, thinking this must be considered quite the house of sin in good old 1899. For her part, Jo did not partake. She spent spare hours at the public library consuming books or writing her own stories. She and Miriam got on well because of this, both possessing vivid imaginations. And so they would talk about the books they'd read. It was not lost on Miriam the likeness of Jo to her namesake in the novel _Little Women_: forward-thinking, brash, unladylike and creative. And Jo began to wonder if her novel look-a-like was not also a girl out of time and place.

One such night of sherry-drinking (purely by Miss. Dervaux, of course) found a number of the immediate area's boys and girls assembled in the living room. Ace was engaged in a heated card game with Racetrack Higgins and Kid Blink, cursing like a sailor and smoking to boot. Ginger was occupied by a loud argument with her boyfriend (or beau or suitor or whatever they call it now, Jo thought) David because, really, they didn't do much else. Jack Kelly, Elisabeth and Miriam were partaking in an animated conversation and two boys Jo knew to be called Specs and Skittery sat on the outskirts, discussing matters of their own. For her own part, Jo sat on the stairs lining one side of the room and ascending to the upper quarters. Miss. Dervaux was nowhere to be seen so Jo stretched her legs out in front of her in a most unladylike manner and leaned her elbows back on the stairs behind her, allowing her book to rest on her stomach as her eyes blurred with the speed of her reading. The newsboys were nice, but Jo felt them intimidating for unknown reasons, _really_ unknown given their manner compared to the blabbering gits she was known to associate with back home.

Home. That was what she called it now. Dublin, October 15, 2008 could not be further away. It was November 15 now, and still 1899. She felt the wool of her stockings itch and felt clumsy in her layers of petticoats and thick skirts, tattered coats and scarves over mended blouses. Around her neck was a small cameo on a chain, white profile against black. She didn't know how she'd come to have it, she'd had it since she arrived in New York City. That's what she'd told Miriam, anyway, and it was basically the truth. The girls thought her lack of a history stemmed from a terrible past and didn't push the matter much. The necklace reminded her of something, of someone. Of her grandmother, she thought, who had worn something similar when she came from Ireland (though that was twenty-five years from now). It killed her to know that Ireland, at this exact moment in time, was characterized by the most extreme wealth and poverty in the British Empire. The Dublin she could travel to was not the Dublin she knew or wanted. No, it was easier to remain removed in a city she'd never lived, only visited. But the irony was not lost on her that now that she really was out of place, she ached for the comfort of the Irish capitol.

"You read a lot," a voice observed from above her. She flicked her eyes upwards and spied a bowler hat covering brown curls, further below that a pair of bespectacled eyes and below that, a smirking grin.

"Well-spotted," Jo replied, letting her eyes snap back to the pages in front of her.

"Well, what do you get from all that?" the boy continued.

"Culture. Something you apparently lack," Jo mumbled.

"Woah-ho now! Seems you could give Ginger a run for money with that attitude. Now what'd I ever do ta' you? Do you even know my name?" the boy grinned winningly. Jo let her book snap shut and sat up, tucking her legs back under her skirt.

"Yes. They call you Specs," Jo responded evenly, avoiding his eyes. She knew the boys thought her odd: fuelled both by anecdotes from the other girls and partially from what they'd observed of her themselves. Her confusion at things they saw as everyday did not escape their attention and it was becoming generally accepted that there was something distinctly off about Jo.

"Right, and you'se Josephine," Specs nodded.

"Jo," she corrected him but found herself smiling warmly, "So, is there a reason you decided to grace me with your presence?"

"Well, I was actually wonderin' if you'd mind callin' Jewel down from the dorm. Even with Miss. Dervaux off ta' her sherry, I think that might be oversteppin' a boundary, and, well Damsel might retaliate and throw something at my head," Specs nodded gravely. Jo just rolled her eyes in response.

"Should I be fetching anything else while I'm up there? Maybe a companion for your friend over there?" she asked sarcastically, motioning in the direction of Specs' friend, who was looking rather put-out at being abandoned and yet was avoiding any attempt of Jack's to be drawn into conversation with Miriam and Elisabeth.

"Skittery's just sour I dragged him over here, thinks you lot are a waste of time. I think he's just bitter he can't get any girl to look twice at him," Specs winked.

"Tell him if he keeps making that face, it'll stick that way," she said, noting Skittery's grimace. Specs laughter followed her up the stairs. She found Damsel and Jewel perched on one of the beds, giggling madly over their sewing.

"Specs wants to talk with you, Jewel," Jo said as the two of them fell over each other, still giggling. "Oi, c'mon now, it's really not that funny!" She could not for the life of her remember why anyone would act this idiotic at the age of 17. Though she supposed 109 years gave quite the hindsight bias. "Honestly," she sighed, heading back down, Jewel trailing behind her, now smiling shyly as she caught sight of Specs.

Jo settled herself back onto the stairs with her book and held back laughter at the girl's one-eighty in behavior. She could remember, even if only vaguely, what it was like to hang on someone's every word, to giggle and wonder what it could become, to hope things might go your way. She remembered lingering smiles and coffee too early in the morning. The thought made her sad for a moment before she let it harden into cynicism. Thinking about boys a century in the future would not get her anywhere in this mess.

"Jo, we should really get Lily ta' bed," Miriam startled Jo from her reverie, appearing out of nowhere and standing nearly on top of her.

"She's been asleep an hour," Jo tried to argue but was already being dragged up the stairs and back to the dormitory, "Mim, what's got you so riled up?" Jo grinned despite herself, falling onto her own bed and peering curiously at the other girl.

"Are you completely daft, Jo? Skittery!" Mim exclaimed.

"Er, what about him? You fancy the guy?" Jo asked, rubbing her temples. She despised the tendency these girls had to chat endlessly about who was sweet on who.

"No, you ninny! Specs told him you said his face was goin' ta' stay in that awful sulky look if he kept it up, and he looked completely shocked! Stared at you the full five minutes you were back downstairs," Mim was positively ecstatic at these news. Jo couldn't really see the big deal.

"Five minutes, eh? That's quite the attention span," she joked.

"For Skittery it is! He won't even give t'ose hoity-toity high class ladies the boys always fawn over a double take. You'd think he wanted to marry Mr. Pulitzer wit' the dedication he gives those papes!"

"Mim, you're a bit beside yourself here," Jo rolled her eyes.

"Well, you're 21, you know. You're going ta' have ta' marry sometime…"

"So I'm going to marry a newsie, am I?" Jo shot back, suddenly enraged.

"Well he can get a factory job if he needs ta' support somethin' more substantial, I'm just sayin', Jo!" Miriam countered, catching the look on Jo's face.

"Been here a month and you're trying to sell me off already? Who says I want to marry? Who says I'm sticking around here?" Jo regretted these words the second they came tumbling out. It always made the girls uneasy when she talked of not marrying (they couldn't imagine such a thing, even given Miss. Dervaux) and she felt bad for hinting she might leave Miriam on her own to watch over the girls when all she really wanted was to leave behind the Lodging House as much as the rest.

"Right. Of course. I don't even know where you've come from, who's ta' say you're not goin' back. I had no right to interfere," Miriam said, stoney-faced. Jo heaved a sigh and let her head drop to her hands.

"I'm sorry, Mim, I didn't mean it. I'm just so tired these days, I just want some peace and quiet, y'know?" she mumbled into her hands.

"Yeah. I know," Miriam responded from somewhere to the left of her. Looking up again she met Mim's eyes and they shared a knowing look. It was out of habit that Mim nagged, because if she didn't act as a mother to these girls, who would? But she never said a word about her own prospects, her own age, her own interests in the working boys they knew.

"Would you have any of them? The boys we know?" Jo asked curiously. Miriam thought about this for a long while before she answered.

"I suppose if Specs weren't courting Jewel… but it's silly to think, because he is. And who would mind you lot if I left? You'd burn this place down!" Miriam laughed but it sounded empty and false.

"And who minded you when you were younger?" Jo asked softly.

"No one. I mean to say… I came here when I was fifteen. And I always minded everyone, just as my mam minded me until she passed," Mim seemed shocked to find herself saying this, but trundled on all the same, "My da' paid for me ta' come ta' America, said he'd join me later. I was ta' stay with my aunt. I stayed one night in the tenement and felt so awful for being anudda' t'ing she had ta' t'ink about, that I found this place the next day. The job followed a week later. My da' never came for me," Miriam finished. Jo nodded, knowing there was no response to the question Miriam never asked (why?).

"I'll tell you mine, one day. One day I'll get it off my chest," Jo said, leaning back now and staring at the ceiling. Her pendant lay heavily against her skin, resting just above where her lungs were laboring, rising and falling. Maybe one day she'd get it right. Just once, she'd not be out of place, time.

"But he's alright, Skittery. He'd do you good," Miriam was continuing now.

"He's alright," Jo agreed, more to placate Miriam, than anything else. "He's cute," she conceded finally with a sigh, getting up to change into her night things. And for a brief moment she wondered if this boy, too, could give lingering smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Don't own Newsies but I own the rest. Yanked some nicknames from old NML listies, hopefully they don't mind, I knew them when! A shorter installment this time but as I seem to have a grand total of three readers, I will just make do with small numbers. More to come once Antique Orange writes more of hers (readit!)  
_

_-West_

**Not Your Year**

**(by badly drawn girl)**

Jo counted the sound of her steps as she trudged home from the factory, dusk falling heavily over the autumn day. She had a song stuck in her head: the kind you didn't know the words to, just the beat. So without her iPod to turn to she just hummed and tapped along, because what else could she do? If she stopped to think she'd never hear the stupid song again, she might burst into tears. The soles of her boots slapped against the pavement and she let the tune fill her head, then opened her mouth and found sung words tumble out, nearly under her breath, "I'm just looking for, just looking for a way around, it disappears this near…" she stopped short, a bit shocked. She knew some of the song; it survived in her head. It wouldn't save the world, but it was a small victory. She picked up her pace again, a bit more spring in her step.

"Heya, Jo!" a voice called from behind her. Turning around, she felt a rare smile pull at the corners of her mouth.

"Heya Cowboy." She liked Jack Kelly. He found Jo amusing rather than absurd and she liked his laugh. She also thought him a good match for Elisabeth, who she had grown rather fond of, and so he was certainly in good graces with the time traveler.

"Fancy a pape?" he asked, holding out a copy of the evening edition with an easy grin.

"Money's a bit tight," Jo replied with an apologetic smile. Jack nodded in understanding and tucked the paper back under his arm. It was a lie and Jo felt a twinge of guilt, but she knew if she kept cutting her expenses, kept amassing coins and bills under her bed then maybe, well actually, she didn't know what maybe would bring. She just told herself that being ready to leave at the slightest notice was important.

"I hear the boarding house over on Park Row is givin' handouts ta' kids lodging nearby, you'se heading there for dinnah?" he asked casually.

"Yeah, Elisabeth passed the word along to me. Grace is refusing to take charity and Eire's been sick so I'm to bring what I can back to Rose House. Are you going?"

"Nah, I'se got business in Brooklyn," Jack said, puffing his chest out in importance.

"The infamous and pretentious Spot Conlon?" she'd never met him, but both the name and consequent descriptions of the scrawny but arrogant boy made her giggle.

"Pretentious, huh? Good word, I'm gonna have ta' remember that one. Nah, just some kid, ehm, Tom Barry? Ya know 'im?" he asked. Jo was attempting to keep her face as neutral as possible but the sound of the familiar name made her stomach jolt.

"Just another newsie, huh?" Jo asked passively but she knew her eyes were betraying her as they peered at Jack imploringly.

"Somethin' like that," he replied but was now shooting her a suspicious look. Feeling confused beyond reason and needing suddenly to be alone, she looked for escape.

"I should stop by the lodging house on my way to Park Row, have to tell Mim something, y'know? I'll see you later, Cowboy," she said, already walking away from him.

"But that's the opposite direction!" she heard him call after her, but paid it no heed. She was reeling with the realization that she may not be alone.

Tom Barry. Tommy. Scruffy, shaggy auburn hair, eyes that shone. _Thick_ Irish brogue. He used to call her "Sunshine" back home, teasing her mercilessly, tweaking her hair and calling her "my Yank." Back home he had been one of the many lodgers in March House, university lodging for mostly postgraduate and international students.

It was a common name, Tom Barry. In the aftermath of the Great Famine, _An Drochshaol_ as Mim called it, so many had come. And they hadn't been the first: the Irish had been pouring in since the mid-18th century, a good number settling down in Brooklyn. What were the chances that _this_ Tom was _her_ Tom? And what would it change, if it was? This was still not her time, their time. But she was lonely. She thought with a smile of a show she had watched on TV back home, the stories of a time-traveling alien journeying through space. He had always had a companion, someone to keep him grounded. She wouldn't mind something similar.

But there were more pressing issues at the moment. Issues like not starving. Like making sure she got to Park Row in time to nick some food for Eire, who was too weak to go to work and would surely lose her job by the time she got better.

While ending up in 1899 had robbed her of countless things, it had given her something she'd never achieved before: a purpose. And even if it was only surviving and ensuring the health, safety and happiness of the other girls, she would take it. So, she did what she had begun to do since arriving at the Rose Street lodging house: she pushed aside her needs (deciding she would ask Jack more about Tommy later) and hurried along, unconsciously taking up the reprise and singing under her breath, "I'm just looking for a faith waiting to be followed, it disappears this near..."

* * *

"Will you read to me, Jo?" Eire called weakly to the dark-haired girl across the room. Jo got up swiftly from where she had been stretched out on her bed and settled herself amidst the bedclothes and books that littered Eire's mattress. Between running the errand at Park Row and ensuring that Eire was fed and that Grace at least nibbled on the charity food she so scorned, then untangling Lily's hair and yelling at Ace not to smoke inside, there had not been a moment to herself. Mim was out until late, though where she did not say. She was asleep now and Jo was glad the older girl had at least one night to her own affairs.

"What do you want me to read?" Jo asked pleasantly, pulling her woolen shawl closer around her shoulders, her nightgown was becoming too thin for the coming cold.

"Something where everyone lives happy," Eire said dreamily, fingering the cover of a book. Jo rolled her eyes, knowing which book Eire was fiddling with.

"_Little Women_ again? We've read it a dozen times!" she laughed while picking up the novel. Secretly, she enjoyed the familiar words, having read it endlessly back home. They brought comfort as the days grew shorter, reminded her that some things did not change. She picked up the tattered story, opened to a page at random and began to read:

"_'That I'm not!' acquiesced Laurie, with an expression of humility quite new to him, as he dropped his eyes and absently wound Jo's apron tassel round his finger. 'Mercy on us, this will never do,' thought Jo, adding aloud, 'Go and sing to me. I'm dying for some music, and always like yours.' 'I'd rather stay here, thank you.' 'Well, you can't; there isn't room. Go and make yourself useful, since you are too big to be ornamental. I thought you hated to be tied to a woman's apron string?' retorted Jo, quoting certain rebellious words of his own. 'Ah, that depends on who wears the apron!' and Laurie gave an audacious tweak at the tassel._" The real Jo paused here, giving an audible sigh.

"What I wouldn't give to have someone that _interested_," she said uncharacteristically.

"Are you going to get married, Jo?" Eire asked anxiously.

"Maybe one day, but you'll come with me. I'll make sure of it," Jo said, playing with Eire's long, blonde hair.

"Who will you marry?" the young girl asked.

"A newsboy? Spot Conlon perhaps?" Jo suggested and the two fell into giggles. "We should get to sleep, I have work tomorrow and you have recovering to be doing," she said, pushing the mess of books into piles on floor. Blowing out Eire's candle, she stumbled across the room and fell onto her own bed, contemplating what trials and troubles would befall her girls the following day.

* * *

The week had dragged on with the coming cold as November began to lean more on the side of December. Burdened with two rather thick volumes and one slim, Jo navigated the muddy streets leading away from the New York Public Library in the dusky light. Arc lights shone their bright white glow over the streets and for one moment Jo felt a slight pang that she was ten years too late to see gaslamps lit in New York City. She then caught herself and scoffed: imagine that, wishing she was back even further in time than she already was! 109 years was quite enough for her... nearly 108, she reminded herself, with the coming New Year. She didn't know what they did in New York in 1900 for New Year's, it was one part of history she'd uncover with everyone else and the thought made her smile a bit.

Jo had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she'd neglected watching her way and found herself knocked straight into a rather solid, warm object.

"Oomf!" exclaimed the object which was actually a human being, and papers went flying, as did Jo's library books.

"Oh no!" she moaned diving for them, but too late, for one had already been claimed by a large puddle. "Oh, they'll murder me, I'll be on life-long ban!" she fished the book out, only to find herself being pulled to her feet by rather strong arms.

"You alright?" a boy's voice asked abruptly.

"Sure I am, but the book's ruined and it's the library's and I barely convinced them to give me a lending membership as it is..." she trailed off. Now looking at the boy levelly, she found it was actually Skittery who she had bumped into. Remembering the last time she and Mim had discussed the disgruntled newsboy, she blushed crimson. If he hadn't been staring the last time they'd encountered each other, he certainly was now.

"Now, I'm sure Rose House has a roarin' fire and stack of books ta' dry and flatten the pages a' that. You got off better than me anyhow, that's twenty papes I lost there!" he said, looking sadly at the soggy papers on the ground.

"Oh," Jo followed his gaze and felt even more wretched for the loss in income her absent-mindedness had just caused, "Well, I'm sure I've ten cents, I know that's just the distribution fee but—" Skittery cut her off here, looking at her as if she were insane.

"Woah, ten cents? You can't afford that, especially if they're going ta' charge you for that library book! Nah, s'alright. Race owes me anyway. When does Race _not_ owe me," the grimace which took over Skittery's face at that last comment caused Jo to giggle and she wondered if he was always such a pessimist. "What?" he demanded. The harder she laughed, the deeper his frown became.

"Nothing, sorry," she said finally, composing herself, "So I take it you're a glass half-empty kind of guy?" she grinned.

"Huh?" Skittery looked at her blankly, "You say some odd stuff."

"Tell me about it," she sighed.

"Well, there goes my work day," Skittery frowned, and then seemed to remember himself and offered his arm to Jo, "Let's get you back to the lodging house then, Miss. Jo."

"Oh, so you do know my name then," here she straightened considerably, "Mr. Skittery," Jo added, putting on false airs as she took his arm.

"Every one of us boys knows your name. You're the peculiar girl who lives at Rose Street. The one Eire always follows 'round," he said confidently.

"Peculiar, huh?" she replied a bit glumly, "I thought you didn't pay attention to the girls," Jo wasn't quite as amused as usual with the summary of her character.

"Who said that?!" Skittery said, stopping dead in his tracks.

"Specs did," she shrugged. Skittery just shook his head and grumbled, "The bum."

"Well, it's true you know. You're certainly never around Rose House, or the factory when we get off work, or at the park on Sundays, like the rest of the boys. Dedicated newsie, eh?" she grinned.

"Jus' tryin' not ta' starve," he said, picking up his pace again.

"Well, that makes two of us then," Jo smiled as they resumed their walk, "So, 'peculiar' 's a pretty big uncommon word for a newsie to throw around."

"Well, I read the papers, y'know. Never manage to sell my last one, so I figure, why not?" he shrugged.

"You like reading then?" she asked hopefully.

"Passes the time," the reply came with an air of nonchalance.

"Yeah, guess it does," Jo thought of how many books would fill 109 years.

Without realizing it, she found they were back at the lodging house and Skittery was holding the door open to her. "Thanks for seeing me home, Mr. Skittery," she said, giving an over-emphasized curtsy, wobbling slightly on her cold and numb feet.

"Night Miss. Jo," he said, giving her a half-smile before taking off down the street. Jo smirked a bit to herself thinking she'd gotten through that conversation fairly problem-free. She was learning how to play this part better every day.


End file.
